These Are the Times That Try Men's Souls
by shannie541
Summary: Season 1/Pre-series (teen!chesters). Dean's past in a small town in Ohio comes back to haunt him when John sends him and Sam on a hunt.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: Non-con and sexual assault featured in later chapters.

Dean stood with his head down in the shit shower of the shit apartment that John had dumped them in so long the skin on his fingertips began to prune. He didn't mind that though, because the water got so hot that it felt like needle pricks all over his skin. He'd scrubbed most of himself raw until his skin protested and turned violent red with each forceful wipe of his rag. But, _dammit_, he still felt filthy and disgusting.

It wasn't until Sam pounded on the door that Dean turned his head back up and realized that he'd been in there too long. "Dean! Stop using all of the hot water, you jerk! I gotta shower tonight, too! You know what Dad said about jerking off in the shower!"

Dean's jaw clenched. Jerking off was the furthest thing from his mind right now, he was tired, pissed as all hell at everyone and everything and just wanted to clean himself up a little bit. Or at least stop shaking. No, jerking off wasn't even close to where his head was now. But, nonetheless, he turned the knob of the shower and its squeak echoed in the bathroom. Dean grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist and stopped in front of the mirror. He used his arm to wipe away the steam that fogged it and look at himself, really. There was a cut in the corner of his bottom lip, the skin beneath his eye was beginning to swell and bruise and there was another cut just across the bridge of his nose.

"Great. Just fucking great." He remarked. He shut the light off before he opened the bathroom door in an attempt to hide his sorry state from Sam, who stood with his arms folded across his chest in the hallway waiting for his turn in the bathroom. Dean kept his head low as he bristled past and Sam turned and let his gaze follow him down the dimly lit hallway back to their shared room.

"Why the heck are you limping? You know, on second thought, I don't want to know." Sam's only response was the door to their bedroom slamming shut.

_Dad, where the hell are you? I can't keep doing this shit._

::::::::::

It had been ten years since Dean thought about that night or anything involving those days. The night, he tossed his tattered clothes in the dumpster behind their apartment building, and took the money he "earned" and bought food that he couldn't stomach to look at, let alone eat much of. John didn't show up for another week. When his phone beeped in his jacket pocket after a text of coordinates from John, Dean's heart sank. _Fuck._

This particular Podunk town was in Ohio and Dean was sure there were more cows there than people. There was a gas station, a local grocery store, a library, a bar, a diner, a school that housed both elementary school kids and high schoolers and, as Sam was quick to point out, a Wal-Mart two miles just outside of town.

"God, I remember being here as a kid. Nothing's really changed." Sam paused and rubbed his chin, "I guess nothing really changes in a town like this. " He said as Dean pulled into the lot of the grocery store. There were no motels close enough by (naturally), so they rented out a small apartment just above the store. The doors of the Impala squeaked open as they climbed out and headed to the trunk to grab their duffel bags.

"No, I bet nothing does."

"Huh. It was nice. Dad left us there for, what, a month? Yeah, a little over a month, actually. It was quiet. Peaceful, even."

Dean flashed a grim grin and nodded before he heaved his bag over his shoulder. "_Peaceful." _He muttered.

They unpacked in silence. Sam set his laptop on the "dining room" table of the small apartment and Dean pulled out stacks of beige folders overflowing with newspaper clippings and printed off data.

"So…" Dean began.

"Right. So, um, there have been these disappearances all over town since the 90s." Dean nods as Sam talks and flicks through the files and pulls pictures of the last six victims.

"What do these guys all have in common with each other?"

Sam shrugged. "I haven't been able to place it. The name of the first guy to go missing Dad sent disappeared 7 years ago. I mean, the timing's sporadic at best but the MO appears to be the same for each of the three guys. The target's always a guy, all roughly the same age, which isn't all that unusual considering how small towns like these work. Some were married, some were single, some had kids, some—"

Dean held up a hand to cut Sam off. "I get it. But they are all from this town, Sammy. That's about as obvious a connection as we're gonna get. Small town like this—everybody's connected."

"Dean, half this town lived and breathed under one another their entire lives. That's not a connection, that's a coincidence. At this point, I think Dad's just screwing with us. We should be tracking the thing that killed Mom and Jess, Dean!" Sam's fist clenched at the end of his laptop and his nostrils flared.

"Sam, you don't know how _badly_ I want to get out of this shithole, but people are disappearing and we need to figure this out. And then we can put this God forsaken town in the rearview mirror and go find Dad." Dean's chair squeaked as he pushed back from the table and he walked over to the nightstand between the two beds. By the dusty lamp, he'd thrown a pack of cigarettes down earlier and didn't realize how badly he needed one until he caught the flare of the reflective packaging from the corner of his eye. He palmed a cigarette, reminding himself to buy more tomorrow and walked towards the door. "Gonna smoke," he said to Sam, with the cigarette dangling from his lips.

He closed his eyes and took a slow drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he pushed it out through his nose. The store had closed hours ago and the parking lot was deserted, save for the store's owner beat-up pic-up and the Impala sitting off in the distance. Dean rubbed a shaky hand through his hair and brought the cigarette to his lips again. _Fuck_. He promised himself that he was going to quit back. Sammy and John didn't need him bent over and wheezing while they were chasing the Thing That Killed Mom (and Jess) because he couldn't shake this habit. But when he found himself in some crap diner in some crap town trying to suck the leftover nicotine from his fingers after a particularly nasty hunt, he figured he could allow himself this one vice every once in a while. Really, he was only human.

He'd finished half of the cigarette before Sam came out to join him, jacket in hand. "Here."

"What's this?"

"Your coat." Sam smirked and Dean glared from his seat on the curb.

"No shit. But what's it _for_?"

"Dude, I'm starving. There's a diner a few blocks from here. Come on, I know you're hungry, too." Sam knew he was right and Dean did, too. He'd finish sulking later.

Dean tapped the cigarette out of the bottom of his boot and dragged himself to his feet. "We can walk. Dude! A little fresh air won't kill you, Dean..." Sam fastened his jacket and took a few steps away before he half-turned his head to add: "…but those cigarettes might."

"Fuck you."

It was a chilly October night and Dean pulled his jacket collar up around his neck before shoving his hands in his pocket. They walked across brick streets lined with old-timey street lights that buzzed and hummed as they turned on. "Charming" little shops dotted the landscape and Dean couldn't help but wonder what people did towns this dull. He grunted. No, he knew what people did in towns like this. A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Instantly, he felt nauseated and could taste the acid in his mouth. For once, he was particularly thankful for Sam's freakishly long legs as he stalked ahead of him. That way, he couldn't see Dean's posture slouch and his grimace as he pushed his vomit back down into his hunger-pained gut. He was never one to question John's directions and orders, much to Sam's dismay, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why John had sent them back to this…place. When they had left the first time, John had convinced himself that Dean was hiding something and questioned him about the faint trace of a bruise under his eye and Dean felt his teenage anger rise up in him as if he _wasn't _hiding something. If John had come back in a week like he was supposed to, there wouldn't be a bruise under his eye and would be able to sleep peacefully at night without sneaking into his Dad's stash of whiskey.

::::::::

There used to be an apartment complex just outside of the town, years ago. Dean was 14 and Sammy was 10 and, God, could that kid eat. John had stocked the cabinets with canned soups and vegetables and the freezer had a week and a half worth of meat. He'd bought two loaves of wheat bread, peanut butter, two boxes of sugary cereal, and two gallons of milk before telling Dean to "make it last." Dean nodded obediently, of course, and watched as John walked off into the summer rain to the Impala.

He said he would be gone for a week, tops. There was a poltergeist a few counties over and that he would call when he got the chance.

A week turned into two, and before Dean had noticed, a week "tops" had turned into three. The cupboards were nearly bare, there was no extra money, and three meals a day was a forgotten luxury. Dean would fix himself and Sammy ever-shrinking servings of Lucky Charms in the morning to Sam's whiny complaints of still being hungry. Dean would eat two spoonfuls of his own portion before pushing the bowl to Sam.

"Here. You can finish mine."

Sam's nose would turn up while he examined the contents of the bowl. "What'd you do to it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You love Lucky Charms…"

"Yeah, well, not today. You said you were still hungry. So, eat up." Satisfied, Sammy would nod and his hair would fall into his eyes before he would finish Dean's bowl of cereal and Dean would walk to the sink, refill his glass of water, and down it in one gulp to silence his stomach.

When Sammy had finished and cleaned the dishes, Dean opened the cabinets and frowned at the site before him: three cans of green beans and a can of chicken noodle soups. He had rationed out the food to the best of his abilities, but they had to eat at some point. Four cans of food, the ends of a loaf of bread and tap water wasn't going to hold them over much longer. He'd even started watering down the milk when there was only half of the last gallon remaining.

"Dad, where the hell are you?"

:::::::::::

When they got to the diner, Sam saw Dean's paled reflection on the door. "You feelin' alright?"

"Peachy."

"Uh-huh." Sam shifted carefully. He backed away from the door and folded his lanky arms over his chest.

"Tired."

"Wanna get the food to go?"

"Uh, yeah…I'll wait out here. Get me whatever you're getting. Unless it's a salad. Never a fucking salad."

Sam's brow rose and he eyed Dean carefully for a minute before nodding. "I put your cigarettes on your jacket pocket."

_Bless that kid. _Dean pawed himself looking for his half-empty pack of cigarettes. His hand shook on the Zippo so badly it took a few flicks of his thumb before it caught. Dean closed his eyes and took a deep inhale on the cigarette as the butt lit up a brilliant orange at the end of his hand. He leaned against the railing outside the diner and hugged an arm around his middle. This place was gonna drive him over the edge if he'd let it.

He opened his eyes to Sam shaking his shoulder shoulder, bag in hand. Dean looked down at his cigarette, nothing more than ashes at this point, and flicked the still-glowing butt on the ground. They walked in merciful silence most of the way home with Sam's head craning every which way to take in the town. He really had a totally different view of this place, Dean thought. This town made Dean's skin crawl and his heart race but it seemed like Sam was thisclose to retiring and setting up shop early. Fucking weirdo, that kid.

"Look, if you're mad at me for what I said about Dad, Dean, I'm sorry." Sam said with a mouth full of mashed potatoes. When they made it back to their room, Sam sat the bag down and unpacked the two Styrofoam containers and the scent of hot food filled the room; two orders of meatloaf, with a side of potatoes and corn. Sam practically inhaled his meal while Dean picked around the edges of the meatloaf, not hungry after all, choosing to focus his attention to his bottle of beer.

"What are you talking about?" Dean eyed Sam for a second and went back to picking at the label across the bottle, wet from condensation. It was a habit their father developed, too, and neither of the Winchester was sure who'd started doing it first.

"This. You were quiet the entire trip to the diner and back and you stood outside and you aren't eating. Dean, you've never "not hungry"…"

"A man eats when he feels the need to. And I stayed outside to _smoke_. Stop taking everything so personally."

"Yeah, there's that, too. You've been practically chewing on those cigarettes of yours since Dad sent us the coordinates to town. What's up with you, man?"

"Nothing is up with me! Since when did me smoking turn into the Spanish fucking Inquisition?"

"I'm just worried about you, Dean. What is it about this place that's got you so spooked?"

"You don't wanna know." He muttered barely above a whisper.

Sam leaned in closer across the table, "what was that?"

"Nothing! Nothing's got me spooked. I'm not spooked! So when you finish stuffing your face, can we get back to the case, please?"

"Sure." They ate at the table in another bit of silence. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair and Dean kept his eyes on his plate, trying to ignore the rustling of Sam's chair and his fidgets. If he was totally honest with himself, he'd admit that this place had started to get to him a long time ago and had never really stopped.

He'd put hundreds of miles between him and this county but there was still plenty of nights where he'd wake up in a cold sweat with the name _Phillip Jacobs _fresh on his lips, leaving a rancid taste in his mouth. But fuck, he'd been a kid then. He'd seen and done things that most people couldn't bring themselves to fathom and faced all sorts of creatures that went bump in the night. But that name struck a chord in him that no black-eyed bitch could come close to hitting.

So, when Sam turned his laptop to him with a picture of the first victim staring back at him, it was no surprise that his mouth went dry and his knees buckled under his weight. _Fuck_. What had surprised him, though, was when his head connected with the corner of the table on his way down. _Fuck!_


	2. Chapter 2

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"Deeeeaaaaannnnn! I'm hungry! What's for dinner?" Sam had been steadily working on Dean's last nerve for the past three days. He was exhausted and his head had a steady throb from hunger but Sammy just wouldn't quit. He'd let Sam drag him to a local park hoping it'd burn off some of his energy and to the air conditioned library when the summertime heat had made their apartment unbearable in the daytime. When Sam whined, Dean clenched his jaw so tight that he thought he might break a tooth. _Can you eat a tooth?_

"Dean! Did you hear me? I said I'm hungry." Sam barreled from the kitchen to where Dean sat on the couch trying his best to ignore the boy. There was a can of green beans left and one slice of bread. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? For breakfast, Sam had eaten a slice of bread with what remained of the peanut butter and when Dean wasn't looking, he polished off the last of the milk and Dean felt his face flush red with anger. That meant the only thing left for him was water from the squeaky tap. And a few green beans. Of-fucking-course.

Someone's stomach growled and Dean wasn't sure if it was his or Sammy's. God, his stomach ached. Lately, he couldn't sleep because he couldn't make it stop with all the noise but he was always so _tired_. The throb in his head got worse if he closed his eyes for too long, so he'd given up on trying to sleep peacefully what seemed like ages ago. His stomach felt like it was starting to eat itself and cramped and ached near constantly. And if he looked hard enough at himself in the mirrors, the sight of his how sunken in his eyes looked and the dark rings beneath them made him want to punch the mirror. But you can't eat glass, so it wouldn't do much good. Sam brought a small hand to Dean's shoulder and shook him from his thoughts.

"Stay here, Sam. Check the salt lines when I leave and don't answer the door for anyone but me."

"What about Dad?"

_Shoot him_. "Open it for him, too, ya goof."

"Where are you goin'?"

"To get us something to eat. I'm sick of this shit."

:::::

"Dean! Dean, man, you gotta wake up. You're scaring me, here. _Please_." Sam could feel the panic rise in his chest as he stared at Dean on the bed. He wasn't sure what worried him more, Dean suddenly passing out at no provocation or the fact that he'd hit his head so hard on the way down. He checked his pulse once, twice, three times… He looked at the seeping wound on Dean's temple. He made sure his chest was rising and falling at it's normal pace and he checked Dean's pulse again. "Dean. Wake the fuck up!" He cursed himself for not pushing the issue of what was wrong with him sooner, harder. Dean hadn't been sleeping well since John sent the coordinates and if he thought about it long enough, his face visibly paled when Sam pulled up directions to the town on his computer in their old motel room. Maybe it was too much nicotine? Dean had been smoking a lot more lately. Or maybe he wasn't eating enough? Yeah, that was it. Dean just needed to stop smoking those damned cigarettes of his and start eating real food and not that processed shit in the vending machines. Yeah, he was gonna get Dean a salad when—

Dean's eyes fluttered open and Sam's internal rambling stopped dead in its tracks. _Thank fuck_. "Dean, are you alright?"

"S'mmy?" Dean blinked and tried to sit himself up on the bed. "Ugh. Get off me, dude."

"You should sit back; relax." Dean ignored him and sat up anyway, slower though. His eyes went straight to the computer again that was turned in his direction with Phil Jacob's flat nose, gap-toothed gin, and thick eyebrows staring back at him. Dean didn't have to see his own face to know that his eyes must have gone as wide as saucers judging by the way Sam looked at him and put a soft hand to Dean's chest, pushing him back onto the bed. "Dean. What. Is. Wrong?"

"Close your computer." He muttered. When Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, he repeated himself and was louder, more forceful, this time with brows drawn tight. "Close your fucking computer, Sam. _Now._"

Sam complied and rushed his long limbs over to the laptop and slammed it shut. He came back to the bed and sat on its edge quietly, silently urging Dean to talk.

:::::

John never allowed Dean to hustle for money before. He never really needed to until now when he was starving and the only way to shut Sammy up was to cram his mouth full of food. So he ran down the road to the dive bar in the summer heat. By the time he reached the door, he could feel sweat trickle down his back and with a shaky hand, he wiped the beads of sweat that formed at his brow.

He sighed a grateful sigh when he walked into the bar and felt the coolness of the air conditioning. Dean was a tall kid, even at 14, and had developed a muscular physique by the time he was 12 thanks to John's training regime. And as long as he kept his still youthful-looking face turned carefully away from anyone at the bar or someone likely to give him a questioning glance, no one was likely to see his tattered clothes or his muscular build and think that he was only 14.

The clank of pool balls at the back of the bar made his heart flutter, in a good way. The bar was dimly lit with bright spots illuminated by neon signs advertising beer, and the air was dense with cigarette smoke. He stalked through the bar until he came to two pool tables and looked down upon them with a smile twitching across his lips when he noticed a stack of bills on the corner of the table.

One man in dust-covered jeans and ratty boots circled the table before catching a glimpse of Dean watching their game from the corner of his eye. "Can we do somethin' for ya, kid?"

"Uh, yeah. I've got next."

The man grinned a toothy grin. "I think you'd be better off playin' outside wit the rest of the kids."

"Look, mister, my Dad's been trying real hard to teach me how to play pool and I just…" Dean flicked his eyes to the ground and let his shoulder slouch, doing his best to look pitiful. "How much are you guys playing for, anyway? A dollar a game?"

Both men turned to face him now, red with stifled laughter. "Try a little higher." The other man replied. His nose was wide and flat and there was a wide gap between his front teeth and he was as tall as John with wide shoulders. Another man, tall and slender while the first two were shorter and wide, walked up behind Dean and patted his roughly on the shoulder.

"Come on, let the kid play. He's jus' tryin' ta do his Daddy proud, ain't that right?" Even threw the haze of the cigarette smoke in the place, Dean could smell cheap whiskey and cigar smoke on his breath and nodded, putting on his best dough-eyed face. Maybe it was a good thing he still looked you in the face, in the eyes especially. "How much can you spare a game, kid? See that stack there? That's two-hundred and fifty some-odd dollars. Pay day's today, so we figured why the hell not. Jeff here," he said gesturing at the first man to greet him, "is gonna end up givin' all his pay to that woman o'his anyway." He laughed and Dean did his best not to wrinkle his nose at the man's foul breath. "I'm Timothy O'Donnell, and this here is Phillip Jacobs."

"Uhm, well I don't have much money. But I do have…" he let his voice trail off while he rummaged in the pocket of his worn jeans. He pulled out a key; a spare for the Impala John had given him when he was 13 for emergencies. This seemed like just a good a time as any to use it. "…this."

"You're wagering a _key_?" Jeff asked with a cocked brow.

"Yeah, well, no. I mean, my Dad's got this safe back at our place and I couldn't get in it before I left because he was still hanging out in his bedroom. But, whatever I lose, I can just go back and get it. He keeps a lot of loose cash around since he don't trust banks too much." Dean suppressed a grin when the saw the wheels turning in all of their head's. Here he was playing them like fiddles and there those idiots stood thinking they were gonna get one over on him, go back to his place, and rob an non-existent safe. _Fucking morons._ "Is-Is that okay?"

"You're damn straight that's okay." Phillip replied. "You can play me."

Dean had watched John hustle enough pool to know that the key to making out like a bandit was to make people think you were a naïve idiot. For a second, Dean wondered how in the hell his ex-Marine father with his cocky build and stern jaw could play people as easily as he did but he shook the thought out of his head as he lined up a shot and missed. "Fuck." He hissed. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the three dirty-covered men smiling to one another while Phillip went and lined up a shot of his own.

The red ball went swiftly into the corner pocket and Dean rolled his eyes at his smug reaction. "Sorry there, kid. You'll get better one of these days. Maybe when you get a little hair on your chest."

Phil missed his next shot, too busy being a prick, Dean though. Dean saw his opportunity and knocked every stripped ball in with a smirk on his face. When he got to Phillip's solid balls, he sank those in with his eyes glued to Phillip as a scowl grew across his face.

Dean stood and made his way to the money that was collected on the table when Phillip took a few strides to close the gap between them. He grabbed Dean's hand tight within his own. "Come on now, Phil. You lost, fair and square. Deal with it."

"I don't like being hustled, boy."

"No one does."

"Let him go, Phil." Dean turned his head a bit to see Jeff speak. "No need to cause a scene."

Phil agreed. "Right." He let Dean's hand drop and Dean flashed him a smile and stuffed the money in his pocket. He and Sammy were gonna eat good tonight.

"Nice doing business with you gentlemen."

By the time Dean made it from the bar, the sun had gone down completely. The street lights were already on and a half moon shown in the sky. The air was still hot, but not sticky and uncomfortable like it had been before. Sammy probably was sweating bullets back at home, unwilling to open a window even in the muggiest of Ohio summer days. He smiled to himself as he turned out of the door, ready to walk back to their apartment. He walked the length of two buildings before he heard footsteps coming from behind. He turned and ducked, and the pool cue that was swung at him just missed cracking him in the skull. It hit a brick wall instead and the wood splintered off at his feet.

"What the –" Dean ducked again, this time just missing a fist that was aimed right for his jaw. Dean stood back up at with rolled a bunch into Jeff's nose.

The man stumbled back with a hand drawn to his face. "Fuck! I tink he bwoke mah nosf!"

Timothy picked up a half of his pool cue and swiped wildly for Dean and the momentum from his harsh swing sent him stumbling. Dean punched him in the ear, a cheap shot, but it hurt and it knocked the man off balance long enough for him to deal with the other asshole.

Another man, Phillip Dean saw, charged him from the side and before Dean could react, he was tackled against a wall, hitting his head on the way down. Phillip gripped Dean around his neck with tight and hot hands, and lifted his head from the ground to let it fall back onto the concrete of the alley with Phillip practically sitting on his chest.

"Where d'you get off comin' down here and playin' me like that!"

Dean blinked away with white spots that swam in his vision and cursed himself for leaving the apartment in such a huff with nothing but a pocket knife in his boot that he couldn't reach. Instead, he raised his hands to the sockets of Phil's eyes and applied pressure. Phillip shook his head wildly and released a hand from Dean's throat. Dean sighed, grateful that he could at least breathe a _little_ and kept the pushing into Phillip's eyes determined not to let them go until they turned to mush under his calloused thumbs.

He wasn't expecting Phillip to slam his head on the concrete again, harder this time and the shock made his hands drop as a groan escaped his lips. "Take…your…money." He muttered through tightly clenched teeth.

Phil opened his red eyes and Dean drew in an involuntary gasp. "I don't want the fucking money no more, boy." Phil took his free hand, clenched a fist and landed blow to Dean's face. His eyes glazed over, unfocused, as his head teetered from side to side where a dumpster sat and where Jeff nursed his shatter nose and Timothy clutched his ear with one hand and watched Dean and Phil from afar.

"What the _fuck_ d'you want?" Another blow to the face. This time, Dean let his head roll with it, hoping to save himself some of the force of the impact. It didn't work and as he reeled back from the blow, blood trickled down his lip.

Phillip lifted both hands from Dean's throat and sat back on his stomach. Dean groaned loudly at the weight and hitched forward slightly before he was knocked back down. He watched fearfully as Phillip sat up on his knees and undid the buttons on his jeans. In a low growl, he whispered, "I can show ya what I want a lot better than I can tell ya. Try and sit up again and I will shatter your fucking skull and stick my dick in that, too."

Dean swallowed and his throat screamed in protest. His head swam and he laid there, still. God help him, but he knew that if he moved, Phillip would slam his head hack onto the ground and he couldn't die. He had to take care of Dad and Sammy and…

He hitched a breath when he felt his own pants unbuttoned. He pawed weakly at Phil's hands before realizing that his own shook. Phil brought a hand up to his throat again and squeezed so tightly Dean thought his eyes would pop out of his head. _Fuck_. He scratched at Phil's hands until the white spots came back into his vision and his arms fell to his side and the alley went black.

Dean came to a few seconds later lying on his stomach with Phil straddling over him. He could feel the cold air blowing across his bare ass and his dick pressed on the ground. "No, no, no, nononononono."

"Shut the fuck up, boy. Yer makin' me soft." With a thrust, Dean let a whimper escape his throat and a tear fall from his eye as he feared the pressure from his backside would tear him in two. His fists clenched and he tried to close his eyes to block out the sound of Phillip's fast past grunts and groans and the way it felt when he entered him. "Fuck."

Dean's head was pressed down into the ground by Phillip's massive hand and he could see him writhing on top of him with his eyes closed and mouth twitched open in pleasure. Dean grit his teeth, too hurt and afraid to move any significant amount but he still squirmed under Phillips's weight as much as he could in resistance. His mouth opened in a silent scream and more tears flowed threw tightly shut eyes now blocking the sight of everything out. His eyes were closed but he could still hear Phillip's rapid breathing and grunts, feel the pressure of his dick and his weight pushing down forcefully on his head.

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	3. Chapter 3

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"You got any pictures of the other vics, Sammy?"

"Dean… Aren't you gonna talk about what just happened? You _fainted_. That's fucking serious."

"Give me the pictures, Sam." Dean warned sternly.

Sam heaved a sigh and went to his computer. He exited out of the window with the picture of Phillip Jacobs and handed the computer to Dean. "Their info's saved in the folder on the Desktop."

"Right." Dean opened the files and drew in a sharp breath. Sam was quick to his side and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Dean? What is it?"

"Sammy, I know these guys. How in the hell..?"

"What do you mean, you know them? How's that possible?"

Dean paused, closed his eyes, and drew in a breath. "The last time we were here. You must not remember it since you were only a kid then." Dean's voice was quiet, like he was willing to recount the tale, but to no one's ears.

"I remember the last time we were here. There was an apartment complex just on the edge of town and we stayed there while Dad hunted something a few hours from here."

"Poltergeist."

"Right, a poltergeist. What about it?"

"He was supposed to be gone for a week; just one _week_, Sammy." Dean's voice quivered and Sam sat down carefully on the bed next to him. If it wasn't for vigilant eyes, he would have missed the way Dean flinched at his movements.

Sam nodded in remembrance, "Dad was gone for over a month. It was summertime and hot as shit so you'd take me to the library to read books and rent movies to watch on our busted up VCR."

Dean smirked a sad smrik. "Yeah, it was a piece of shit"

"Dean, I know this isn't about some crap VCR Dad got at a yard sale. What happened?"

"We were running out of food, Sam. Hell, we did run out of food. Dad didn't leave any cash and there was only enough food to last a week and a half at best. I stretched it out as much as I could, but… I was too afraid to steal. If I got caught like that last time, with no number to contact Dad or anybody else, what was gonna happen to you? Who'd take care of you if the cops got involved like before and CPS showed?" Dean's eyes were glassy and he swayed on the bed ever-so slightly. Sam kept a steadying hand to his shoulder, squeezing slightly to urge Dean to go on.

"Dean?"

Dean's Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat as he swallowed rapidly before the words came tumbling out. "So I went to this bar instead and these three guys were playing pool for money. I'd seen Dad hustle the pants of people since I was old enough to pay attention and I knew I could pull it off, too. And I did, Sammy. You should've seen their faces. This 14 year old kid going on about wantin' to impress his Daddy with his pool skills…They thought I had sucker stamped on my forehead.

But they got pissed and I walked away. I should've run. I don't know what the hell I was thinking – just strolling on in the summer wind. Fucking idiot. They caught up to me a few buildings down and didn't have my weapons because I blew out of the apartment in such a hurry and fuck if I was gonna leave you without anything to protect yourself. No, fuck that.

I took out two of 'em, Sammy. Punched one so hard in the ear, the file says his hearing was never right after and I shattered the other asshole's nose from here to Tuesday. But…_Phillip_. Fuck, he was strong as an ox, man. He got on top of me and banged my head so hard on the ground that I couldn't think straight. I couldn't fight him off, Sammy."

Dean stopped talking and his breathing became erratic. Fists clenched the thin sheets on the bed and he shut his eyes, seeming to try and calm himself down. "That's why you came back with all those bruises that night. You thought I didn't see it but…I didn't ask what happened. He beat you up because you beat him at pool?" He took in a deep breath, "maybe it's a good thing that something is killing these assholes off."

Dean chuckled grimly.

"What?"

"I blacked out for a second and when I came to, I was on my stomach with this guy just on top of me. He was fucking on top of me. _Inside_ of me. All for 200 lousy fucking dollars." Sam's hand dropped away from Dean's shoulder as he jerked away and turned to face him. "200 fucking bucks. Bastard didn't even buy me a drink first." Dean's joke was wrong; the timing was off and his face held no confidence.

Sam blinked, pushing down nausea and looked sadly down at his brother's hands and saw slight trembles dancing up his arm. Dean's eyes flickered away from Sam when the joke left his lips and stared at an empty spot on the motel wall while his chest heaved in deep, heavy breaths. Words of comfort flew threw Sam's mind; words that he needed to get out to Dean.

But between the tightness in his chest and the rising lump in his throat, the words were stuck there, hanging in his mind like anchors. He reached a shaky hand to Dean's shoulder and while he was sure that Dean wasn't paying him much attention, he jumped up from the bed, muscles tense enough that his body shook slighty.

"Don't touch me." His voice was small and heavy with heartache. Sam blinked at the transformation before his eyes; not even a second ago when Dean jumped off from the bed, his shoulders were square and tense and his jaw tight. Now, though, his posture slacked and his eyes were wide and child-like.

And then the dusty lamp on the bedside table flickered on and off and a chill breeze blew through the closed-off room.

"Dean?" Sam was standing now, too, facing his brother with concern engraved into his features and worry making his voice soft but thick. "What's happening, man?"

"'was only a kid." Dean shook his head no violently and mumbled as he spoke. Tears flowed down his cheeks unchecked and he brought a finger up to his mouth to bite at the nail. "Why'd they do that to me, huh? 'just playin' baseball."

"Dean, that's – that's not what you were just telling me a second ago. Dean?"

"Stop callin' me that!" The child like voice was gone when Dean roared. The bulb in the lamp shattered, as did the overhead lights. "That's not my name."

Sam blinked. The flickering lights, Dean's total and complete change in demeanor – he was possessed. _What the actual fuck? _"O-oh. Ok. How about you tell me your name? I'm Sam."

"J-Jack." Dean's posture slacked more and he averted Sam's gaze like a timid child.

"That's a nice name. Do you know what's going on?"

"I-I," Dean blinked and scrunched his nose in frustration. "I was playin' baseball. Mommy said I didn't have to be back into the street lights came on."

"Your mom sounds like a nice lady, Jack."

Dean's eyes blinked. _Jack_ blinked and nodded. "He was gonna give me a ride home."

"Who?"

"Mr. Jacobs."

"And then what happened?"

"I got in his car." Jack's nose (Dean's nose?) scrunched again. "It smelled funny. Like beer." Jack stopped talking then and looked up pleadingly at Sam. "Can you help me? I just didn't want to be late coming home. Mommy would've been so mad at me."

"Jack – "

"I-I know I'm not alive anymore. I just want to stop now."

"Stop what?"

"It's not fun anymore."

"What's not fun anymore? Jack?"

"They were bad men."

"Who?"

"The men in those files – the ones you came to see about. They weren't nice people."

"I know."

"Then why are you here? Do you want to help them? They were bad people!"

"Jack, I know. The same man that hurt you – he hurt my brother when we were kids."

"I know. It's why I was able to come into him. So why are you here?"

"We didn't know what was causing the disappearances. We didn't know who these people were, _what_ they were. If we had – "

"Would you have come if you had? Come to see about saving them?" The air in the room grew cold again and there was a tightness in Sam's chest. Jack – _Dean_ – glared at him with rage-filled green eyes. "Some people can't be saved, Sam! I couldn't. Dean can't!"

"That's not true." The words lacked any weight to them under Jack's stare and influence. Sam clutched a hand to his chest and steadied himself. "Dean can be saved. He's alive now. _You_ can be saved, too."

"I'm dead, Sam. What can you do?"

"We can help you find peace. We can put you to rest." Sam blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep the motel room and Dean in focus. Dark spots began to pepper his vision and he teetered on his feet.

And then, Jack blinked and the tightness was gone. Sam inhaled deeply, not taking his eyes off his brother only a few feet away from him.

"I don't want peace anymore."

"You said you were tired."

"I was – am. But I'm not done yet."

"What do you mean?"

"They all should pay. They should've saved me but they didn't."

"Who?"

And then Jack blinked. Only, when his eyes opened again, it was Dean staring back at him under a haze of confusion. He swayed on his feet before reaching a hand out to the wall beside him and sliding down to the floor. Sam stood and watched, frozen in place, as the room went back to normal temperature and the lights stopped flickering.

Dean shuttered in the corner and slammed his palms into his eyes and groaned. Sam took a tentative step towards Dean but stopped and wondered if the first outburst was Dean before Jack possessed him or Jack just after. When Dean's groans gave way to whimpers and his shoulder began to shake, Sam closed the distance between them anyway and placed a reassuring hand on Dean's tense shoulders.

Dean was too out of it to hear the rumbling of a car outside their motel room. Sam was too caught up with trying to make Dean snap out of it to hear the motel door opening. Neither of them were too deep in thought to hear the thunder of a familiar voice behind them: "Boys, what's happened?"

::::::


	4. Chapter 4

An autumn chill blew threw the open door and the steady hum of traffic was the only sound that filled the room. John approached Sam who was still perched in front of his brother, one hand reassuringly on his shoulder. Dean's eyes flicked up from a spot on the wall to meet John's – unfocused and round, pupils dilated enough to choke out the ring of green.

"Sammy, what's going on?" John looked around at the disheveled state of the room with a grim expression.

"Dad?" Sam turned slightly to look up at his father with worry etched across his face and an expression so uneasy and _young_ that John had to swallow his own anxiousness at the state of his sons – Dean, dazed and in a huddled heap on the floor and Sam looking like he had as a child whenever Dean got so much as a bruise on a hunt. "How'd you – ? He-he won't snap out of it."

"Son…"

Dean was vaguely aware that Sam and John _(where'd he come from?)_ were speaking to him – he could see his name hang from their lips. Sounds were muffled – like he was there but submerged underwater from underwater and there was a steady, but dull, ache behind his eyes. He worried at his temple covered in a fine mist of sweat, a feeble attempt to relieve the pressure and to quiet the voice of Jack in his head when he felt someone grip his neck. Hard. John's hands were strong and rough and his head jerked up to the touch.

"Wha-?"

"Dean, look at me. That's an order, son." His father's tone was gruff and authoritarian and if Dean looked closely enough, he could see agitation wash over his brother's face when he responded to John's orders rather than Sam's pleas.

"Da-? What're y'u doin' her?" Dean slurred, finally feeling the fog in his head dissipate. Sam's hand was no long on his shoulder and he'd taken to rubbing an arm Dean didn't realize was trembling.

"Sammy, help me move him to the bed." Sam nodded, bangs falling into his face, and he reached under Dean's armpit and pulled him to his feet. Once Dean was resting in the bed, John and Sam stood on either side of it looking down worriedly as Dean drifted off to sleep. The rise and fall of his chest evened out and his arms no longer twitched in panicked jerks.

"What the hell happened in here, Sam?" John sat stiff and erect in the chair in the make-shift dining room of their small apartment and called over to Sam who sat perched on the edge of his brother's bed, unwilling to leave Dean's side, knowing how he found comfort in his brother's presence and wanting to desperately provide the same. "Hey. Are you about to wig out on me, too?"

"Don't joke about that, Dad!" Sam growled, gaze turning to John. As he looked at his father, Dean's words rung loudly in his ears - Dad had left them without money, without food, without any contact information for _anyone. _Dean thought they were going to starve and he'd been ra-.

"Then answer my question." John's own low growl brought Sam back from his thoughts but his anger boiled on. "What. The hell. Happened."

"We were working the case. The one _you _sent us on while you were too busy to return a phone call to let us know you were still alive but still found plenty of time to send us off on random hunts."

"And I told you boys that when I got a solid lead on the thing that killed your mother and your girlfriend, I'd let you know when it was done."

"God, Dad! That's not the fucking point."

"Well what is the point?!" Without realizing it, they were both standing and only a few feet away from one another, voices rising in anger, arms thrusting to add emphasis to their own points. Sam watched his father seethe – watched as his chest heaved in heavy breaths and new he was probably doing the same. The vein in his father's neck that bulged whenever simple disagreements morphed into something uglier and more intense made its way to the surface of the skin and Sam knew that if Dean was capable, this would be the moment that he'd step in between them, a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart. Before he left (ran) for Stanford, Dean would push Sam as he huffed and fumed through the door, slam it tight, and drive until the gas light blinked on the Impala and Sam had finally cooled off. He forced his own breathing to slow and he turned guiltily to Dean who lay still on the bed with his brows drawn down in pain. Or worry. Or agitation.

"This job," Sam began finally, voice quieted now, "it's taking a lot out of Dean."

"That's not telling me much, son."

"Dean got _possessed _by this spirit and I think that's what's behind all the disappearances."

John's eyes widened and his mouth gaped. "Possessed? Is that why this room's like this? Fuck, Sammy. _Shit!_" He rubbed the stubble that darkened his jaw and looked over to Dean's sprawled form on the bed, resting uneasy. "Why him? What was the sonofabitch after?"

"It – he," Sam corrected, "wanted to talk. To explain things."

"To explain _what_, Sam?"

"I…he…" Sam stammered and looked everywhere in the room that his father wasn't.

"Spit it out, Sam!"

"Sam. Don't." Dean groaned loudly as he tried to prop himself up on one elbow, the other hand rubbing more at his temple. "My head feels like it's gonna explode. God."

"Dean, geez, give yourself a minute before you try to get up." Sam took quick strides, closing the distance between them before John had the chance to do so.

"It's fine, Sam."

"Man, this is so far off from being fine, it's not even funny."

"Sam, don't go there. Please."

"You need to tell him. He can help with this. You and this case."

"What do you need to tell me, Dean?" John held back initially, allowing his boys a moment of privacy but the hushed whispers between them grew in intensity and he made his presence known. "What in the hell is going on?"

"I already told you, Dad. Dean got possessed by a spirit."

"Yeah and then you conveniently let the conversation drop. Details. Now."

"The spirit was, god, it was just a kid." Dean ran a hand threw his shortly cropped hair and exhaled. "He was just a kid."

"And now, what, he's going after the local folk? Why?"

"Dad, maybe we should let Dean rest for a second. He was pretty out of it before you got here."

"Yeah, so I saw. Look, I don't know what game you two are playing, but it ends now. You two aren't kids anymore and the secrets stop here."

"Oh, you're one to talk about secrets, Dad." From his spot on the bed, Sam glared up at John and his fist curled around the tattered bedspread underneath Dean. "Why'd you send us here, huh? What's so special about this place, this town and these people?"

"As opposed to coming with me to find the thing that – "

"No! This isn't about that! Don't you remember the last time we were here? Dean hated this place. Why send us back?"

"From what I can recall, you seemed to enjoy it at the time."

Sam gaped and drew in a breath and walked away from the bed. "I was a kid then. I didn't know what I know now. If I did, I would've – "

"Sammy! Stop. Don't go there. _Please._" Dean's pleas went ignored when Sam allowed himself to be consumed by his bitterness and anger towards John and their lives.

"You would've, what, Sam? What would you have done?"

"I would've done _something_ while you left us alone to fucking starve for weeks on end!"

John stood in front of Sam now with his fists balled tightly at his side and Sam jerked to his feet in response. Dean slowly dragged himself up from the bed with a muttered groan and eased his way towards them with short and stiff steps.

"You boys were always taken care of and you know it."

"That's a lie! _I _was taken care of because Dean gave me his food while you were out on some wild goose chase. He could've been killed!"

"Stop speaking in circles and just come out with it! What the hell is your problem, boy!?"

Sam seethed at that and felt anger color his face. "You're my fucking problem! You left us there – left us here without so much as a phone to call anyone and no money and no food and _fuck!_ Dean was raped! He got _raped_ because you left us alone to go feed your fucking obsessions and – "

Sam's rant was interrupted when he heard a strangled sound. For a hazy second, he thought it was from John as a realization of Sam's words sinking in. But John's face - widened eyes and a face masked in guilt and pain – he realized that his mouth was closed but his eyes were focused just beyond Sam's shoulder. Sam turned slowly to find Dean, lips parted in a shape resembling an 'o' watching their exchange and his body wracked with shakes. He swallowed convulsively and Sam felt his stomach clench when he read the expression Dean had painted on his face: shame.

"Dean…" He made a small step towards Dean but Dean flinched and stepped back hurriedly. "God, Dean, I'm so sorry."

"Don't touch me!" Dean hissed. "I asked you not to say anything. I _begged _you."

"Dean, is what Sam said true?" John spoke now, shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with concern. But Dean focused his red-rimmed eyes at Sam all the while addressing John.

Dean didn't respond, but the jerk of his head and the sag of his shoulders when the fight drained out of his was enough of an answer. His chest heaved but his eyes never left Sam's.

"Dean?" John croaked.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but he needed to know."

"It wasn't for you to tell! It happened to _me_ and I've dealt with it!"

"Is that why Jack latched on to you? Because you've 'dealt with it'?"

"Oh, fuck you, Sam. Fuck you and your self-righteousness. _Fuck!_" Dean patted himself down, searching the pockets of his pants and his over-shirt. "I need my cigarettes." He muttered. "What the fuck did you do with my cigarettes?"

"Dean…" John spoke up again, his first attempt falling on deaf ears. "Look at me, son. Dean! That's an order."

Dean whipped towards John and his jaw clenched. "What?!"

"Is what Sam said true?"

Dean exhaled and his body relaxed. "Yes."

John swallowed. "Son…"

"We were running out of food and there was no money so I went to hustle some pool like I've seen you do a thousand times. Shit got out of hand and some guy got pissed that a kid was a better shot than he was and chased me down an alleyway."

"And this spirit, Jack, what does it have to do with all of this?"

"He's taking out the dirty sons-of-bitches that did the same thing to him. And the world'll be a better place for it." He said, walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sam called.

"To get more cigarettes. I need a fucking smoke."


End file.
